


Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the Dogs of War

by RVTstudent



Series: Canis Major [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Competition, F/M, Military Working Varren, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post First Contact War, Pre-Mass Effect 1, Slow Burn, varren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RVTstudent/pseuds/RVTstudent
Summary: Inspired by my love of all manner of working dogs, the relationships that we experience with our own dogs by our sides and the fab movie Megan Leavey comes the purely self-indulgent need to write a story like this - I can only hope to do it justice.Atticus Regirian and Ryan Hunter met as competitors, became friends, and never expected that it would lead to more.The “space-dogs”, Argos, Sirius and Tempesta, well, they just do what highly trained military varren do best: fight alongside their partners.Post First Contact War, pre-ME1.Title: Spoken by Antony in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I, Line 285.





	Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the Dogs of War

**Author's Note:**

> A disclaimer for this, and future chapters. The behavior and biology of the varren species will be a mish-mash of characteristics taken from domestic and wild canids, as well as other pack living carnivore species, which includes some personal head canons and artistic liberties. And if anthropomorphism isn’t your thing this might not be the fic for you!

 

 _Trust in me my friend for I am your comrade._  
I will protect you with my last breath.  
When all others have left you  
And the loneliness of the night closes in,  
I will be at your side.

_Guardians of the Night, Unknown Author_

 

The morning sun projected the last of its warmth feebly as it rose, the golden rays catching the light frost that sparkled on the cropped blades of emerald grass. The air was cool and crisp as Ryan Hunter walked to the training field, a reminder that deep fall and winter was not far away, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the smoke that would have been lazily drifting from the chimney of her family’s ranch house. At her heels, Argos and Sirius exhaled plumes of warmed air into the chilled environment, looking every bit like fire breathing dragons from another universe.

But dragons they were not. Ebony skinned Argos and his brindled litter brother Sirius were varren, trained by Ryan as part of the Alliance Military’s Project Laika, named for the Soviet dog who became the first animal to orbit Earth over two centuries prior. Much had changed since the Sputnik 2 had been deployed, and those changes had been accelerating at an ever increasing pace after humanity’s discovery that it was not alone in the galaxy.

It had been in the aftermath of the First Contact War, with humans being invited to join the galactic community, to work, trade, live and, on occasion, even love alongside the other species, that Ryan had discovered the varren during her perusal of the galactic codex issued to all new Alliance recruits. War dogs had been used by humans throughout history, from the time of the Egyptians, the Persians and Greeks, and through the conquests of the Roman Empire in a multitude of roles: as brave heroes under fire, beasts of burden or tending the wounded and providing comfort to the infirm. This role had continued through the centuries and on both Earth and her colonies, the German Shepherd and Malinois were often still used when policing humans.

Given the new challenges an interspecies galaxy presented, and the variety of environments in which they lived, Ryan, the daughter of a former Alliance science officer and gifted with his sense of curiosity and thirst for knowledge, had dug deeper, devoting her sparsely allotted shore leave as a new Private on the Citadel to haunt the archives and libraries that called the station home. It was there, searching for any scrap of information or reference, that she’d discovered that the other species, most notably the Krogan, the Batarians and, showing off the depth of their militarized resourcefulness in regards to the concept of “total war”, the Turians, had utilized varren in much the same way as humans made use of dogs in times of war. While the advent of new technology, including combat drones, mechs and a host of advanced detection and scanning equipment had reduced the role of the working varren, there were sects that still kept the practice alive.

Not just alive – but _thriving_. The records Ryan had examined extolled of various circumstances where scanners and tech had malfunctioned, rendered unreliable by environmental conditions, hacking or other countermeasures meant to wreak havoc with the sensors and software that made them operate. One such instance was a varren handled by a Salarian STG agent had saved the life of one of Sur’Kesh’s most prominent dalatrasses when scanners had failed to detect explosives planted at a political summit by a rival clan. Another showcased the skill of a Turian lieutenant whose varren uncovered a large cache of weapons held by Hierarchy separatists – one of the largest ever recovered. The man-made devices lacked the sensitivity of a varren’s olfactory prowess, as well as the instincts, drive, resiliency and intelligence that still gave the animals the upper hand. Not to mention that the varren were deployable as a multi-purpose tactical advantage, capable of not only detection work, but also protection, patrol, scouting and recon, and search-and-rescue. At least that was Ryan’s opinion, based on her experience and research.

Ryan smiled as she unlocked the gate and released the two varren from their leads. “Go warm up.” she told them, coiling the thick braided lines in her hand, before setting down the canvas gear bag she’d had slung over her shoulder. The two brothers trotted off, heads held low and scenting the ground as they walked the perimeter of the training field. Varren had reputations as aggressive and savage pack hunters and pests, given their rapid breeding cycles, however, as Ryan had discovered when she’d began Project Laika four years prior, they were much like dogs when trained – and that was the goal of the Project. Ryan had raised and imprinted Sirius and Argos, the only graduates of Project Laika, from birth, and she knew their personalities, habits, likes and dislikes almost better than her own.

Argos - bold as brass and black as pitch with an ‘act first think later’ attitude, the larger of the two littermates was Ryan’s go to for close quarters combat and hostile disarmament. Despite his wicked bite, which could easily crush bones, muscle and flesh through armor, and a bone chilling snarl, Argos was actually a big softie when off duty, always looking for a friendly scratch or cuddle, although most found his size and coloration intimidating.

And if Argos was Ryan’s right hand, then Sirius was her left.

The brindled varren was more reserved than his gregarious brother, constantly on alert for any threat, and standoffish to new people. Sirius had infinite patience, and he excelled in combat tracking and detection work, working quickly and accurately to hone in on the faintest of scent trails. Although both varren were sufficiently trained for all tasks and skills that could be asked of them, the two brothers each had their specialties, and together with Ryan, the trio made a terrifyingly efficient team in the field.

She had trained them both herself, following in her father’s footsteps working under the auspices of the Systems Alliance Military Research and Development. Using positive reinforcement methods and historical records about training military working dogs as her guide, Project Laika showed promising results. However, when the time came for the varren to be deployed, they wouldn’t work for anyone but Ryan. So, desperate not to lose her ‘boys’ or have them relegated to morale building entertainment and civilian outreach programs, and thanks to Ryan’s more than adequate weapons proficiency, fitness and technical testing scores, as well as some internal politicking on her behalf by Admiral Drescher, Ryan left R&D for a spot in the Tactical Reconnaissance Unit that was lead by a team of N6 soldiers serving on the SSV Leipzig to earn their N7 qualifications, and not only was Ryan regularly on the front lines with Argos and Sirius, but more often than not, they were sent ahead of the front lines, taking point to clear the way for the marines coming behind them.

By making the switch, Ryan had earned a direct promotion to Corporal, with Argos and Sirius bestowed with the rank of Sergeant in time-honored tradition. Though she might have been unproven in combat and considered an outsider by the veterans of Tactical Recon, most of whom had years of experience, when she first started the unit commanders had been impressed with the amount of skill both she and the two varren, who had quickly become their unofficial mascots, exhibited and they began to seek her advice on how to best use their talents in a combat situation. 

Now back on Earth after what was supposed to be a ten-month tour of duty with TRU had been cut short by four months, Ryan, Argos and Sirius had been keeping their skills sharp on the training field for the past week, but she was eager to get back to the Leipzig. However, she had been recalled to Earth for some unknown reason – the only member of Tactical Recon to called back to Alliance HQ Halifax - and so, they waited for their next orders.

She let out a sharp whistle, the short blast of a single note, and the varren immediately whipped their heads towards her. Sprinting side by side, jostling and jockeying for the first position in their ‘race’, Argos and Sirius panted playfully, the chill weather making the brothers high-spirited.

Ryan grinned as she knelt before them, thumping a gloved hand on Sirius’ ribcage before grasping Argos playfully by the snout, laughing at his feigned snarl and the impish snap of bear trap jaws.

“All right boys, time to go to WORK.”

‘WORK’ was one of nearly a hundred specialized cues that Sirius and Argos both knew, and the mere utterance of the word flipped a switch in the two brothers. No longer playful, they stood resolute, determined, with muscles rippling and twitching in anticipation and their attention laser focused on her.

Their first task was to tackle the obstacle course. Comprised of catwalks, hurdles, tunnels, stacks of abandoned shipping containers, the stagnant remnants of an old pond, not yet frozen over, and a salvaged shuttle that had been decommissioned, the obstacles were perched at various heights and degrees of lean. Ryan often ran the obstacle course with the varren, Argos in front and Sirius covering her six, but today she wanted to work them at a distance. She’d also hidden multiple finds out on the course, everything from samples of explosives residue to weapons and baggies of red sand.

From the duffel at her feet, Ryan retrieved the brothers gear. A tactical vest, modeled after standard Alliance issue armor, made of shock absorbing underweave, protective ceramic outer plating and equipped with a small shield generator, was fastened around the varrens chest, covering their vulnerable areas. A small video camera and antenna attached to the back of the vest had both the capability to record and transmit footage of what Argos and Sirius were seeing, but it also acted as a comm set, allowing Ryan to communicate her commands to them over long distances.

Activating her omni-tool, Ryan synced the equipment, and a small varren’s eye view of herself appeared on the orange holographic screen. Donning her visor, she transferred the image to the smaller screen at her eye, and sent the first of the two brothers forward with a single command, “Sirius, SCOUT.”

_Sirius runs, leaping over the first set of hurdles as he’d been directed before scaling the mountain of shipping containers, climbing almost two stories high when the first tendril of scent hits his nose._

_He moves against the gentle breeze, letting the scents of his surroundings wash over him, catching what he can. The musk of dead leaves and drying grass, frying fat from the mess hall, the warming sweetness of the drink stored inside the metal canister belonging to his person._

_The smells fade, carried away by the new wind, and there it is!_

_He hunts this scent, drawing in it’s foul richness, stopping to raise his nose higher, taking the odor deeper inside, tasting it and recognizing it. He moves again, tracking the trail, and a small shiver of thrill runs across his body._

_It rises from the shuttle, positioned below him. He clambers down the steps formed by the roofs of lower placed containers in the pyramid. Sirius dashes across the open turf, springing nimbly through the busted cockpit window. He works his way, front to back, through the shuttle, checking every nook and cranny, honing in on the growing concentration of scent. He circles and paces, making certain, before pointing his body, straight as an arrow, and whines._

_His tail makes a soft swish in the air as the satisfying whisper reaches his aural openings._

_“GOOD BOY”._

Sirius’ search for the first article had been flawless. Ryan had expected that the changing weather might challenge the varren, but he had a nose for tracking that could not be denied. Ryan’s praise for Sirius was interrupted by the slow thump of Argos’ tail against the ground and the ever cheerful voice of Sergeant Ben Stockton, tinged with slight awe as it was any time he had a chance to watch Ryan work with her varren.

“Sirius, RETURN.” Ryan transmitted over her comm, knowing that Sirius would be by her side in mere moments, before she turned to face the dark haired man with sparkling eyes and a boyish grin. They’d met well over one year ago, when Ben had been returning one day from his occupational specialty training, working towards becoming a combat correspondent, and he’d happened upon the trio, training late in the afternoon heat. He’d stopped and told Ryan a story about growing up with his grandfather’s dogs, as the elder Stockton was one of the last policemen to use working dogs in his role policing one of humanities colonies. From there, Ben had volunteered to help with Argos and Sirius’ training when he was able, often donning a protective bite suit and sleeve, or allowing himself to be ‘buried’ so Ryan could put Argos and Sirius through their paces in hostile takedown and Search and Rescue situations.

He’d become one of her closest friends, hell, he was probably her only friend now. Ryan’s focus since joining the Alliance had been on her research and career, leaving little time for friendships or relationships, many of which she had allowed to wither. Her preference for animals over people, a carryover from Ryan’s childhood, also hadn’t helped much in the relationship department either.

There had been mutual respect and admiration on both sides, with hints of something more spoken of only in hushed whispers and fleeting glances but nothing had gone any further, and Ryan had fallen out of regular contact with him when she’d been serving on the Leipzig. Now she could see that Stockton had earned a promotion, as well as achieved his career goal, evident by the shiny and new marine correspondents badge hanging around his neck.

“The Wolf Pack is back!” The bronze skinned marine threw back his shaved head and mock howled, flashing his perfect white teeth set against dark skin as he patted a panting Sirius on the head, the varren having just returned, before pulling Ryan into a one-armed hug.

Ryan toyed with the white badge hanging from the royal blue lanyard at his chest when Ben had released her. “Sgt. Benjamin Stockton, War Correspondent.” she read, performing a poor impression of a newscaster’s voice. “It has quite the ring to it B. When’d you get it?”

“Two weeks ago. I am actually here for my first story.”

“Oh?” Ryan raised her eyebrows in interest, “Anything interesting?”

“You.” He said.

“Me?” Ryan scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes ‘You’,” Ben straightened, his tone and body language becoming more formal. “Command wants you to report to the media building at 1100 hours and they want you in full dress blues too Corporal.”

Ryan saluted. “Yes sir!”

“Good. And afterwards you’ll let me treat you to a hot drink in the mess. Still hot chocolate right – can’t stomach good marine corps coffee?”

“You know it.” Ryan grinned.

An alarm sounded on Ben’s omni-tool. “I’d better go, the dignitaries have already arrived.”

“Dignitaries?” Ryan frowned. Was the brass looking to use her as their show-pony, expected to show off Sirius and Argos’ training to provide some sort of entertainment for higher ups?

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Ben sent one more smile her way, striding off.

Argos whined, and Ryan looked down to see the varren staring at her, a despondent look in his eyes, his earlier eagerness waning.

“Sorry buddy.” she apologized, kneeling to remove his vest, “You’ll get your turn later, I promise.”

Leashing the varren, she walked them back to her room, bypassing their rarely used kennels, as Ryan preferred to let them continue sleeping in her private barracks as she’d done on the Leipzig. Even though Argos hogged the bed and Sirius snored like a hibernating bear, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them to rest in their concrete runs after sharing her living space with them since they’d been born. As the brothers settled, content to gnaw on the pyjak bones she’d set out, having planned to give them to the varren after their training session ended, Ryan stripped and showered.

\---

Ryan studied herself in the mirror as she finished changing into her starched formalwear. Big boned, solidly built and standing at just over six feet tall, Ryan had long, muscular legs that swelled to thick, powerful thighs before flaring into wide-set, shapely hips. She smoothed her hands over the material of her dress pants, adjusting the tight press of cloth. A subtle dip between her ribcage and pelvis gave her the illusion of curves, depending on what she happened to be wearing, and Ryan frowned as she plucked at some of the loose fabric of her shirt free from the waistband where it had been tucked, attempting to try and hide the stubborn roll of baby fat that still clung to her midriff, despite her adult age of twenty-six and regardless of how much (or how little) PT she undertook.

One hand drifted to the valley between small, pert breasts, fondling the dogtags nestled beneath her shirt, before closing the buttons on her dress jacket, straightening the lapel and fiddling with its clasps, ensuring her insignias and few decorations were attached and straight. Twin Corporal’s chevrons adorned her shoulders and across her chest a were the few ribbons she had earned as well as the Tactical Recon Unit emblem and her father’s senior science officer pin all hung in regulation alignment. The last of these was considered off-regs and Ryan had taken her share of flak for it, until her superiors had clued in to her family name – the same one shared by humanity’s first casualty in interstellar war against an alien race - and nothing was ever mentioned about the small act of rebellious remembrance again.

Finally, she took stock of her face and hair, tucking the end of the French braid up beneath the base, securing it in place with bobby pins. Freckles made constellations across the milky expanse of her skin, speckled beneath Antarctic ice blue eyes on a non-descript face that was memorable only for the pinkish-white scar that bisected the right half of both lips, beginning on Ryan’s cheek and ending above the small dimple in her chin - a mark from Argos and Sirius’ mother.

Giving her form one last look in the mirror, Ryan made her way out of the bathroom into the main living space of her tiny Corporal’s on-base apartment. Argos was sprawled on his back, all four feet pointed skywards as he slept dead to the world, and Sirius raised his head from his curled up position on the couch, tail thumping on the lumpy cushions as she waved a silent good-bye, locking the door behind her.

\---

Entering the small media building, nearly 1100 on the dot, Ryan blinked in surprise. Rather than the hordes of human reporters and the dour, stuffed-into-their-uniform armchair admirals and generals she’d expected, Ryan was pleasantly surprised to find a small group of asari, salarian, turian and human reporters hurriedly capturing B-roll footage or pre-recording segments of dialogue prior to the live press conference, while others began taking their seats. Like two feuding families at a wedding between their star-crossed children, the humans sat cloistered together to the left, while the alien species sat on the right, each side pointedly ignoring each other. At the back of the hall, Ryan shook her head, rolling her eyes. Twelve years later and the animosity and distrust between humanity and the turians was still blatantly obvious.

While the Council had brokered peace between the two at the end of the Relay 314 Incident, not much had occurred in the way of reparations or concessions from either side, leading many a conspiracy theorist to postulate that none would be coming. However, today Ryan felt that something different, in what way she didn’t know, was going to happen, and her gut clenched. Given Ben’s veiled statements, she knew that it had to involve her somehow.

Up on the low stage, two short rows of chairs sat behind the dais, and were already beginning to fill. Ryan surveyed those who had taken their seats, and found that not only was there a small Alliance contingent, comprised of the senior media officer, a General with whom she was not familiar with and was probably only present at this junket for show, rather than actually having any authority on whatever he was brought here for, one of her old R&D supervisors and shockingly, Admiral Drescher, who commanded the Second Fleet and had liberated Shanxi, sitting alongside formally dressed dignitaries representing the Asari Republics, Salarian Union and Turian Hierarchy. While the Admiral had been known to Ryan and her siblings as ‘Aunt K’, their father’s closest friend, while off duty, Ryan knew that the appearance of the seasoned, steely haired admiral meant that galactic politics were at play here. Her stomach constricted again.

Lost in her thoughts, Ryan barely noticed Ben’s appearance at her side, his whispered directions to take her place on stage sounding as though they were said under water. Her heart thundered in her ears as she was seated between the Admiral and a sickly gray colored salarian male, the centerpiece to their play.

The senior media officer rose, her heels clicking on the polished wood of the stage, and a hush fell over the gathered crowd, the only sound was the whirring of their recording drones.

“Thank you all for coming.” Her polished voice echoed in the room, far larger than required for such a small crowd gathered. “I am pleased to welcome our distinguished guests Jannus Uzal, Althea M’Taos and Tyrell Parthenion of the Intergalactic War Animal Association to Alliance Headquarters Canada, as well as Admiral Kastanie Drescher of the Alliance Second Fleet and General Stein of Alliance High Command.” She paused for a moment, and then continued. “I’ll now turn the podium over to Mr. Uzal, for the IWAA official statement.”

A polite round of applause greeted the salarian official as he rose from where he’d been seated at Ryan’s right and made his way to the lectern.

“Thank you.” Uzal began, taking a chance to clear his throat. “The Intergalactic War Animal Association was started by a small group of individuals with the intention of allowing handlers and trainers to exchange information and advice, record breedings and bloodlines, as well as providing support for and promoting the history of working animals in galactic conquests, and ensuring their inclusion in our future.

Every three galactic years the IWAA hosts the Ultimate Varren Challenge, a grueling competition spread over three weeks, taking place on three planets, where teams will undergo tests of both their physical and mental strengths through trials of tracking, combat, detection and protection. It is the pleasure of myself and my esteemed colleagues that we announce that the first phase of this year’s competition will be hosted here on Earth, and at this time, we also formally extend an offer of participation to Alliance Marine Corporal Ryan Hunter to participate in this year’s games.”

\---

A small detachment of the Hierarchy’s Military Police, the 1st Working Varrens had commandeered the vid-screen that occupied one end of the mess and recreation hall, all thirty members jostling for a place to sit, trying to balance plates and cups of rations while ensuring they had a good view of the screen. Except for Master Sergeant Atticus Regirian, their second in command and defacto leader on ground missions. He hung back, standing behind his men, resting a hand on top of his companion’s head. Tempesta sat at his side, leaning her massive pale gray skull against his knee. They were an elite group despite their small numbers, comprised of the top varren handlers from across Hierarchy space, most of whom, if not all, would receive official word in the next few moments that they had been selected to participate in the Ultimate Varren Challenge.

If he was selected again, it would be Atticus and Tempesta’s second time entering the challenge since he had earned his way into the 1st Working Varren Detachment at the age of twenty-one, after six years in the military police, kicking with the spur as he fought and scrabbled for every promotion he earned, dealing with the double stigma of being barefaced, and a military policeman. Atticus reflexively touched the MP’s brassard on his bicep and Tempesta grumbled, nudging his knee, her sentiments on the subject clear. Atticus rumbled in amusement and returned his hand to its previous position and resumed stroking her head. Her tongue lolled in a grin as she eyeballed him from below, knowing full well how spoiled she was, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her with a flick of his mandible.

They’d placed in the top ten at their first competition, and Atticus was determined to better his position this time, setting his eyes on securing a top three podium placement to mark the end of Tempesta’s active duty career before she was retired for breeding, producing the future generations of military working varren for the Hierarchy.

“Looking forward to going again?” Cato Tibtis, Atticus’ friend and superior officer of their detachment stood alongside him. He nodded at the black plated _torin_ who sported the trademark red markings of Taetrus.

“I am. It will be our second time.”

Although he and Cato were of similar age, in their mid thirties, and had leapfrogged up the ranks together, the Taetrean native had always had an easier time earning promotions than a bareface from the backwoods, agricultural colony of Silona. Atticus didn’t begrudge his friend for being promoted ahead of him, much to the other _torin’s_ surprise, and was happy in his role as the most experienced varren handler in their unit, with both Cato and his junior officers all looking to him for tactical and training advice both on and off the field.

“Some were wondering if you would be willing to set up extra training drills for them if they were invited to compete. Spirits, I’m hoping you’ll do it, because Trigger and I need all the help we can get.” Trigger was Cato’s new varren partner after his first had to be retired due to injury, and the over exuberant young male was giving his handler a great deal of trouble.

“Give him time Cato. Trigger is still young and eager to prove himself, just have a little more patience with him.” Atticus advised, and seeing that the broadcast was about to begin, he murmured before turning his attention back to the screen, “I will have a schedule of training rotas ready for you by end of day.”

The squad of thirty had quieted as the transmission began, listening to the female turian reporter’s opening dialogue, however when her segment transitioned to a shot of the stage and dais, they sat in shocked silence to see humans seated next to the officials who organized and ran the Ultimate Varren Challenge. And when the official invitation was offered to the human female at the centre of the stage, their reactions ranged from slack-mandible surprise, to rumbles and grunts of disgust. One handler even had the audacity to pitch her empty cup at the screen in anger, and while Atticus saw the act, he paid no notice, instead focusing on the human shown on the screen. Her face went through a series of expressions, malleable and revealing like the asari, first with wide eyed shock, then the darkened look of anger, followed by resignation as she squared her shoulders, steel tempering her spine as she approached the salarian delegate, shaking his hand. ‘ _The face of a true soldier.’_ , Atticus thought, _‘Come what may, she’s ready to face a challenge head on, accepting her fate.’_

“Sir, did we know the humans had military trained varren?” a young corporal questioned, his head tilted thoughtfully.

Atticus considered his answer and was cut off before he could reply. “The varren will have the damn pyjak for lunch.”

“Or she’ll let them fuck her monkey’s ass!”, came another slur.

“Watch it.” Atticus let his voice rumble low in reprimand, coupled with a stern glare. _Why was he defending someone he’d never met, let alone a human? Was it because of his upbringing, surrounded by salarian, asari and even drell ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ that gave him a greater appreciation for other species, or was it the respect of one soldier to another?_

A flurry of omni-tool pings sounded and the members of the 1st Working Varren hurriedly checked to see if they’d been selected for the Challenge, their tirade of insults against the humans momentarily forgotten. Atticus checked his own, and felt elated to see himself and Tempesta named to the competitors list again.

“WITH ME.” He said, patting his thigh and Tempesta fell into step with him, heeling at his side as Atticus crossed the hall, leaving his unit to their excitement and disappointment. He would check in on them all later, helping starry-eyed Corporals with dreams of first place awards set realistic goals, and providing encouragement and advice to those who had missed out on the chance to compete this time. Right now he had work that needed doing: a training duty schedule needed to be drawn up, there were yearling varren to train, preparing them for partnering with their future handlers, and he had to plan a demonstration for a group of school aged turian children who would be visiting the base in a few days’ time.

“Master Sergeant!” Booted feet ran to his side, matching Atticus’ purposeful stride. It was the corporal, an emerald eyed son from a lesser bloodline of the Pallin family, continuing his career in the military police rather than being nominated to C-SEC and placed under his distant cousin’s watchful eye. “Did we know the humans had trained varren?”

Atticus stilled. “No,” he replied quietly over his shoulder, “We did not.”

\---

_‘Had I known – sure! I would have started six months ago with more training, more conditioning, put them on harder opponents, more difficult tracks to follow, but instead you spring this on me, with the expectation that I have to win, to show the other races we can compete with their best!’_

_‘I’ve seen the reports, we all have. You’re talented, and so are they. Your superiors say they’ve seen nothing like you.’_

_‘Talent isn’t enough. We aren’t ready for this.’_

_‘You have two weeks – be ready.’_

That conversation had taken place at the end of the press conference, in hushed but harsh tones (on her part anyways), and Ryan wondered if there would actually be a time when she, Argos and Sirius would be ready. If she was being honest, it really came down to her readiness, not theirs. It was one thing to go into combat as part of a team, but to go into competition against the galaxy’s best on her own, the sole representative of her race, with the expectation to win as part of some political power-play, even on a small scale, was almost ludicrous. Yet, Ryan couldn’t deny the clench of nervous excitement in her chest if she allowed herself to think about what she would be undertaking. She exhaled a short breath through her lips, trying to get a better grip on her feelings, because they’d transmit down the lead to Sirius and Argos, and she needed to be the handler they deserved tomorrow. If she wasn’t confident, neither were they.

She and just over one hundred other varren handlers from across the systems had arrived the Vila Militar in Rio early enough before the first leg of the competition would begin, allowing everyone a fair chance to acclimate to the oppressive jungle heat and humidity. While she gave Sirius and Argos one last opportunity to stretch their legs before turning in for the night, Ryan reflected on all she had observed of her fellow competitors over the past few days.

The competitors were mainly comprised of the three Council races in nearly equal numbers. The batarians were represented by a small group, and the krogan participants even outnumbered her by five. What Ryan found most interesting, however, were the differences between the types and bloodlines of varren each group were competing with. Asari trained varren were all biotic to some degree, and came in a startling variety of color tones, from deep red and gray to pale blues and aquas.

Varren from Sur’Kesh were long and lean, with an efficient working manner that bespoke of their training with the quick spoken salarians. Tuchankan breds had muted skin colors, but were large and stocky with a bull-headed determination unlike any other Ryan had seen, and those that were batarian trained were whip-cord thin and sinewy, with long, over exaggerated teeth, and had temperaments just as nasty as their handlers. A brawl had broken out between two varren, one handled by an asari and the other by a batarian, who had been in too close of quarters, and both had to withdraw from the competition, one for injury, and the other for being nearly uncontrollable, only capable of being subdued after an injection of a tranquilizer.

The varren which were handled by the turians were very similar in phenotype to Sirius and Argos, and they played well into the behavioral stereotype of all turians being enthusiastic yes-men, as their varren were uncannily obedient, following commands without hesitation.

The first phase would be focusing on tracking and detection, with varren and handler expected to follow a two day old and fifteen-kilometer long scent trail and uncover five caches of weapons and explosives along the way. She figured that the salarians would perform the best, given the humid environment of their home world, and the turians with their cat like grace would likely be close behind, although she’d heard rumblings as she passed by the barracks that housed the turian contingent that they were finding the environment uncomfortable, complaining about their carapaces undergoing a premature molt, the plates becoming soft and sloughing with the extra moisture in the air. And, according to one turian whose hand was moving furiously beneath his compression suit in a manner that had Ryan doing a double take, itchy as hell.

Ryan looked up, pausing her train of thought, and saw that she was approaching the batarian barracks. She made a deliberate turn to the right, angling away. There was something about the species that unnerved her, and reports about batarian slavers attempting raids on human colonies didn’t help matters, but neither had the one individual who had made eye contact with her during the officials briefing earlier in the evening, and Ryan shuddered as she remembered his perverted leer, needle like teeth on display as those four eyes glinted with malice.

Suddenly, both varren tugged on their long-lines, and with a startled exhalation of air, Ryan collided with something cool and solid, only realizing that it was another person when they spoke in a deep, accented dual-toned voice reminiscent of an Australian drawl and twang that had Ryan weak in the knees with just three words.

“Watch it human.”

Two massive hands clamped around her shoulders to steady her and Ryan took her first look at the turian she’d bumped into. The first thing she noticed was his shoulders and arms. Broad and more muscular than what she’d seen of the other members of his species, this turian’s rust red armor looked like it had to be custom fitted to accommodate his rugged physique. Ryan herself stood at six feet tall, and he positively towered over her, enough that she had to crane her neck to see his face, the yellow plates shimmering a burnished gold in the last feeble rays of sunlight. Suddenly self-conscious, Ryan looked down, her cheeks burning, only to realize that in the meantime, Argos and Sirius’ leashes had become entangled, wrapping around her legs and those of the turian in front of her, looping around his spurs and knees, pulling them closer together.

She tried to extricate herself from the coiled lines by loosening the excess she held in her hand, but Ryan only succeeded in cinching the tangle tighter and throwing herself off balance. With her arms windmilling, she grasped at the turian’s armored forearm to try and stay upright, but instead she managed to unceremoniously haul the massive turian down into the dirt with of her. Her view of the starry skies over Rio was quickly replaced with the concerned ‘kisses’ from Argos across her face, delighted to have Ryan down at his level for a change. Beside her, Ryan could hear the turian get to his feet with a huff, letting out a unique whistle. Pushing Argos away, Ryan also clambered to her feet and dusted herself off.

A ghostly white flash sprinted across the dusky field, stopping at his – no, at _her_ master’s side. All words of apology died on Ryan’s tongue as this new revelation took hold. Finally, she managed to speak.

“You have a varren.” she stuttered, her words tangled together in her tongue tied state.

“And you are a genius.” He gave her a dismissive flick of his mandible and strode off.

“Wait!” she called, jogging after him, towing Sirius and Argos behind her. He rounded on her, the twin rubies of his eyes blazing brilliantly, and Ryan swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“You have a _female_ varren…an _alpha._ ” Ryan emphasized the word, trailing off and looking away as she considered her next statement, genuine admiration in her voice. “How have I not heard of you?”

Most assumed that varren society was a patriarchy, with an alpha varren being the biggest and strongest male of the pack. However, that notion couldn’t be further from the truth. Rather, much like the spotted hyenas of Africa, varren were a true matriarchal species. An alpha varren was female, the ruler of her pack, and her daughters would inherit her high social standing in their strict hierarchy, where even the lowest ranking juvenile females would be dominant over the highest ranked males. It was why most who trained varren for military use chose males – they were easier to train and handle, and were smaller in size than their domineering female counterparts. For someone to have earned the trust and cooperation of a female varren, let alone an alpha, they had to be extremely skilled and talented in their training.

It was the one area of her research where she had failed, and Ryan touched the scar on her face in rememberence. The first varren of Project Laika, and the project’s namesake, had been an alpha female as well, the mother to Sirius and Argos. She had been purchased already bred, with the idea that Ryan would have a trained varren to practice handling, which would also help prepare her for training the female’s offspring. However, Ryan and the alpha never fully clicked until it was too late, and by then, the alpha was dead, leaving Ryan to raise her two surviving pups.

“I’m Ryan. This is Argos,” she gestured as she recited their names, “and Sirius.”

Ryan stuck out her hand. “I promise I’m not going to haul you into the dirt again.”, she tried for humor and was relieved to see what she thought was the flicker of amusement cross the turian’s face.

“Atticus, and Tempesta.” He offered, not bothering to take her hand. “And I know who you are.”

Ryan frowned as she lowered her hand, instead extending it cautiously towards Tempesta’s muzzle for the female to sniff.

“Be careful,” Atticus warned, “she is not that friendly toward –” his mandibles flared in shock when the gray and white varren’s tail swished, and she leaned into Ryan’s touch. “females.” He finished lamely.

“You were saying?” Ryan smirked.

“Ha. Yes.” He flared his mandibles and shook his head wryly.

“Atticus, would you mind if I picked your brain sometime?” Ryan asked, shifting her gaze from Tempesta to her turian handler. “About her training? My research didn’t uncover much about training female varren other than it shouldn’t be attempted,” she laughed quietly, “so I’d love to learn how you became partners.”

“I am nothing special – it’s Tempesta that does all the work.” Atticus said, crossing his arms across his chest. When she heard her name, the gray and white varren came and sat at his feet.

“I think,” she paused, glancing at him furtively from the corner of her eye, her gaze focused on the dying sunlight, “you’re probably more interesting than you think you are.”

To say he was flabbergasted at her comment would be an understatement. Atticus had full intentions of brushing her off, but there was such a genuine curiosity he could sense from her, and if he was being truthful with himself, Atticus was a little curious about humans too. Zaphiri, one of his mothers, had instilled a respect for other species early on in his childhood as part of her work as Kabalim serving with the 43rd Marine Division, which was a joint operation between the three Council races where the Cabal was comprised of mostly turian, asari and salarian biotics, and Atticus had grown up with his mother’s squad mates, his aunts and uncles in spirit, as regular fixtures in his life.

He trusted Tempesta’s instincts as well, considering the last turian woman he had brought home after a night out on shore leave hadn’t made it past the threshold of his temporary apartment due to the territorial she-varren warding her off with full tooth baring snarls and growls, whereas when Ryan had tenderly reached out, Tempesta readily accepted her touch without a second thought.

Atticus hit the brakes on his internal monologue when he saw Ryan worry her lip, a shuttered crossing her face, crystal blue eyes dull with resignation where they’d been wide with curiosity just moments earlier. 

“Actually, just forget I asked. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ll just get out of your hair…or fringe or whatever.” She said ruefully, shortening the two leashes in her hands as she turned away, calling her two varren to heel.

Atticus scrambled, blurting out “I will do it.” When she turned to face him, he hastily added, “Let you ‘pick my brain’, as you say. On one condition.”

“Name it.” She replied, quirking a brow as she folded her arms, sinking onto one hip.

“I want this to be a cultural exchange, where I am able to ask questions of you as well.”

Her eyes narrowed for a split second, considering and Atticus fought the urge to squirm.

Her expression relaxed and she gave him a small smile, “Okay.”

“Okay. Okay - goodnight then. Best of luck tomorrow.” Atticus gave her a small, awkward nod which Ryan returned before they each retreated to their barracks for the night, their respective varren trailing at their heels.

 

Marine Corporal Ryan Hunter, Military Working Varren Argos and Sirius - ready to kick ass and take name! Another beautiful commission from @[BethAdAstra](http://bethadastra.tumblr.com/) / @[BethAdAstraArt](https://bethadastra-art.tumblr.com/)

 

Master Sergeant Atticus Regirian, Hierarchy Military Police. Commissioned from @[SquigglySquidd](https://squigglysquidd.tumblr.com/)'s Ko-fi event

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What are your thoughts? Will man-made devices eventually replace military and police dogs? Would the advanced scanners and mechs of the ME universe negate the need for trained varren? 
> 
> A note about names…  
> Argos – From Homer’s Odyssey, Argo’s is Odysseus’ dog, who recognizes his disguised master when he returns home after many years away fighting in Troy. Old, neglected and infested with fleas, Argo’s only has the strength to lower his ears and wag his tail. Odysseus is unable to greet his beloved dog (who was well known for his speed, strength and tracking skills) as it would reveal his true identity, and as he passes by, Argos dies.
> 
> Sirius – The brightest star in Earth’s night sky and part of the constellation Canis Major. AKA the dog star, it’s position in the sky marks the beginning of the “dog days of summer”.
> 
> Laika – A stray from the streets of Moscow, Laika was selected to occupy the Soviet Sputnik 2 spacecraft that launched on November 3, 1957, where she became one of the first animals in space, and the first animal to orbit Earth.
> 
> Tempesta - based on the latin word for storm, tempestas, her coloration of gray and white reflects the color of clouds.
> 
> P.S. Check out Megan Leavey if you haven’t already heard of it. A fantastic film!
> 
> P.P.S. I'm on Tumblr - stop by and say hi! https://rvtstudent.tumblr.com/


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